


The Wolf's Clothing

by elfenphoenix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Apothecary Pidge, Brief appearances by other characters - Freeform, Chime Child Allura, Chime/Little Red Riding Hood AU, Lance literally a tailor, M/M, Town chief Shiro, Town doctor Hunk, Werewolf Keith, halloween one-shot, the dog turns out okay I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfenphoenix/pseuds/elfenphoenix
Summary: Lycanthropy is a curse, a shadow that falls occasionally over the villages and towns scattered through the woods, the mountains, the swamps. Beware the wolf that walks alone. Beware the wolf that walks among you.Most say that the only cure for lycanthropy is death. Silver bullets, hangings, fire… the village is not safe until the life of the werewolf has been snuffed out.But some say that there is a chance a werewolf can be saved. A narrow window after its turning, before the night of its first full moon has come to a close… if a person who truly loves the wolf returns its clothes, it will turn back to its human shape… the curse will be broken.Some say…





	The Wolf's Clothing

Keith thought of Lance as he wandered through the woods, his dog beside him, checking his traps for game.

He would never say so, of course, least of all to Lance. After all, the event he was thinking of had happened months ago, so to bring it up now would be to admit that he had never stopped thinking about it, even once, through all the time that had gone by.

All of the days that had passed since the festival, as Keith had gone out to the woods and collected the day’s catch, he had remembered the warmth of the festival bonfire, remembered the way the town had pushed its tailor toward the square, to dance around the flames. Keith remembered watching Lance spin with delight, his hair catching the firelight and glowing, his cheeks flushed with warmth as he ate and drank and danced, and danced, and danced, until he could not dance anymore.

Keith pulled a now-dead rabbit from his trap and slid it into the leather bag slung over his back, sealing it tight. His traps were emptier than usual, today. It was true that with winter fast approaching, animals’ usual paths were changing, but he’d been a trapper and hunter long enough to know how to compensate for it.

He whistled for Kosmo to come back to him, and the huge black dog obliged, crashing through the fiery oranges and reds of the fallen leaves until he returned to Keith’s side, his tongue lolling happily.

Keith ran a hand through Kosmo’s fur, remembering how he had insisted on not naming his dog until the perfect name came to him, but Lance had done it for him completely without his permission. And, since much of what Lance did was infectious, the name had spread throughout the town, until Keith was the last one not to refer to _his_ dog by the name Lance had given it. Finally, even he had given up. And so Kosmo the dog’s name was.

Yes, everything Lance did was infectious. At the very least, it infected him. Every challenge they had entered as children, his competitive spirit lighting a flame within Keith that never, ever went out, and only roared higher and higher with every time they spoke, until it burned brightly enough to sear him. Yes, Lance was infectious. His laughter, his flushed cheeks, falling down next to Keith in his exhaustion, the firelight glimmering in his eyes, his gasps for breath falling against Keith’s skin, until he’d recovered, and taken Keith’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

 _I don’t dance,_ Keith had attempted to argue, though without much effort.

 _You do now,_ Lance had said.

And so he had. Spinning endlessly with Lance around the fire until all that remained were embers, and his legs were disobedient with exhaustion, and Shiro had to come and tell the two of them that the festival was over, and they should go to bed. But Keith had not wanted to leave. Not if it meant letting go of Lance’s hand, of ending their dance, burning hot and strong together.

Keith looked up at the sky, frowning. It was much later than he’d anticipated-- he’d spent much longer checking his traps than usual, owing to the low catch. The sky was already darkening, the moon beginning to rise. He had better hurry back.

As he walked off through the woods, his rifle slung over one shoulder, his leather pack over the other, and Kosmo trotting next to him, he frowned at his own foolishness.

_Don’t remember. Didn’t happen._

How could Lance have simply forgotten something that Keith could never, ever, _ever_ forget? The heat of the fire, the warmth of his touch, the light in Lance’s eyes that was seared forever into the backs of Keith’s eyelids, the folds of his brain, the cavities of his heart, so that they replayed even when he dreamed.

Suddenly, next to him, Kosmo came to a halt.

He crouched to the ground, staring off through the trees, which were already fading out of clarity with the nightfall. He rumbled with a warning growl to whatever was watching them from the shadows into which Keith’s lousy human vision could not see. But Kosmo was shaking, his tail curled ever so slightly underneath him.

Keith felt his palms begin to sweat, his body beneath his skin run cold with apprehension. Kosmo was a big dog. Huge, even. There was not much that could cause him to show any signs of fear.

“Kosmo… let’s just get out of here,” he whispered.

It was too late.

A massive shape lurched out of the darkness, crashing into Kosmo with enough force to knock the dog sideways, both tumbling through the leaves in a tangle of thrashing limbs and snapping jaws.

Keith swallowed his agony at seeing his dog in such a fierce battle and forced himself to focus, to reach for his rifle, to aim it at--

The animal leaped away from Kosmo, snapping at Keith just as he managed to bring his rifle up, its jaws clamping around his upper arm, its claws shredding through the deep red of his traveling cloak.

Pain jolted through his skin, his muscle, into his brain, temporarily clouding his thoughts. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with the creature as it tore into his flesh. The _wolf_ , with its dark brown fur and golden eyes that seemed to glint with a fierce intelligence, a genuine malice he could recall from no other creature he’d encountered before-- and he’d encountered many before. Wolves, even.

And then the moment was broken as the wolf yelped in pain, unclamping its jaws from Keith’s arm as Kosmo grabbed its back leg in his mouth and pulled, jerking his head back and forth to intensify the pain.

Keith forced himself to focus, to bring up his gun. Aim.

 _You have the worst aim of any hunter I’ve ever met_.

Thoughts of Lance always did come to him at the worst times.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet sent a spray of leaves into the air just a few inches from the wolf’s side, but it was a miss all the same.

Still, the sound startled it, and it slashed its claws deep into Kosmo’s soft underbelly, forcing the dog to whimper and let go, allowing it to break away and run, limping, back into the shadows of the forest from whence it came.

~

“Something feels weird to me,” Hunk insisted again, shivering as he arranged his medical tools despite the healthy fire blazing in his hearth.

“You say that every night,” Pidge shot back from her seat at his kitchen table, jabbing the pestle into the mortar with her usual vigor, the herbs inside filling the small house with their scent as she ground them into a paste. “I think you’re just paranoid.”

A knock came to the door, and Hunk just about jumped out of his skin.

Pidge leaned backward to look out the window at their guest, then rolled her eyes. “It’s just Keith, Hunk. Seriously, calm down. You’re gonna freak everyone else out, too.”

He swallowed, making his way to the door to let in their friend.

When he did, though, the sight before his eyes instantly indicated that this was no friendly visit.

Keith was carrying Kosmo in his arms, most of his form concealed behind the dog’s mass and fur-- which was a testament to Keith’s determination, because Hunk could see a huge gash in his arm that would definitely have made it difficult to carry much of anything, let alone something as heavy as Kosmo. And both man and dog were absolutely drenched with blood.

“KEITH, what the--?! Hurry up and get in here oh my--!”

Keith quickly stepped through the door and out of the fog that was quickly drifting through the town, gently laying Kosmo on the ground before practically collapsing to it himself.

“What _happened?!”_ Pidge yelled, jumping out of her chair and running over to him, looking quickly between the two patients.

“I met a wolf in the woods. It bit my arm, but I’m fine, just… help Kosmo. Hunk… please…”

Hunk swallowed again, taking a deep breath and settling his nerves. He was a doctor-- he couldn’t afford to be afraid in a time like this.

“Pidge, can you clean up Keith’s arm while I work on the dog?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

He pulled his hair out of his face quickly with a cloth around his forehead, then got to work washing, disinfecting, cutting the fur out of his way so that he could attend to the injuries. Sweat from his forehead soaked into his cloth, and he moved to his surgery kit, ignoring the slipperiness of his his fingers slicked with blood as he threaded the needle with thin but strong wire, his fingers as steady as they ever could be as he pulled the dog’s skin back together over its organs, thankfully minimally damaged.

Next to him, he heard Pidge click her tongue and stand up, muttering, “it looks pretty nasty… I’ll have to make a salve for it so it doesn’t get infected.” She patted Hunk on the shoulder, announcing, “I’m running to my house to get some supplies. Be right back.”

If she lived any farther, Hunk would have been worried, but the apothecary’s was only next door, so she would be fine.

By the time he finished the stitches, and was moving over to his water basin to wash his hands, Pidge had returned with her supplies and was furiously grinding and mixing them, muttering the ratios under her breath as she worked.

Keith gritted his teeth as she began applying the salve, but otherwise showed no signs of pain. He looked up at Hunk, his brows furrowed with worry. “Is he going to be okay?”

Hunk frowned, looking down at Kosmo, curled up next to the fire, breathing fitfully. “I’ve done my best, but… he was pretty messed up. There wasn’t much organ damage, but he’s lost a lot of blood. At this point all we can do is wait. Probably best that he stays here, though. I don’t want him moving around in his condition.” Hunk looked back at Keith, then went to his cabinets and pulled out a roll of gauze, walking with it over to Keith’s spot on the floor.

“So… just one wolf?” he asked as he began to wrap the wound, now that Pidge had cleaned the bite and applied medicine. “Must’ve been big. That’s the biggest wolf bite _I’ve_ ever seen.”

Keith looked down at the floor. “I don’t know. It was dark. There could have been more in the shadows, but only the one attacked. It ran off when I shot my rifle.”

Hunk didn’t like the sound of that. “We haven’t had a wolf attack in years. They don’t come that close to the town anymore.”

Keith shrugged, then winced. “It must have smelled the game in my bag.”

Hunk could tell that there was something Keith wasn’t saying. Still, he doubted he was going to get much more out of him-- Keith never really did say everything he was thinking.

“You can stay the night, too, if you want. But you’re gonna want to get over to Lance’s soon. Your cloak is shredded.”

He watched Keith’s expression as he said it, noticing the tiniest flinch when he said Lance’s name, and then the look down at the tattered bottom half of his cloak, the bright red stained deeper with his and Kosmo’s blood.

“Thanks, Hunk.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You don’t get to go to sleep until you help me clean up all this BLOOD…”

~~~

Shiro got more and more worried the later it got without Keith returning home. Even an outdoorsman as experienced as Keith knew that the woods weren’t charming to be in at night. The Old Ones grew more powerful in the moonlight, their whispers stronger and their magic more potent. He’d never known Keith to be fooled or entranced by any of them, but for many, it was just a matter of time.

Shiro managed to stop pacing and sit down in the chair next to the fire, although his fingers tapped against its side restlessly.

At a knock on the door he jumped to his feet immediately, but looked out first to know who it was. Carefully, he said, “I am not inviting you in.”

His door swung open and his visitor stepped through, pushing her cloak’s hood back to reveal her white hair and blue eyes. The town’s Chime Child, Allura.

“It is a good thing that I do not require an invitation, then,” she said with a smile. But that faded quickly into a frown. “You are not happy to see me.”

“Keith hasn’t returned.”

At this her frown deepened, but she dropped into the seat across from him, taking off her deep blue cloak. “I saw the lights still on at the doctor’s and apothecary’s as I made my way here from the fields. I believe he is there.”

If Keith were to be found in any other building in the town, Shiro would have breathed a sigh of relief. But…

“You were coming here anyway. Why?”

She frowned, turning to look out the window, at the fog that rose to obscure the buildings just across the square. “The Old Ones are speaking. Something has come to our town. Something unwelcome.”

Allura was the only person in the whole town who dared to wander into the wilds at night. Only a Chime Child, born between the chimes of midnight, could see the faces and hear the voices of the Old Ones, could hold any power over them, could resist their magics without other protection. It made her wise beyond her years, and absolutely integral to ensuring the safety of the town.

She turned back to Shiro, her gaze intent. “I ask you to call for the barring of doors at night. I do not wish to lose any of our people to whatever creature lurks just outside our town. Something even the Old Ones do not welcome.”

Shiro nodded. “Alright. In the morning I’ll call a town meeting. I’ll keep everyone safe, Allura.”

“You had better.”

~~~

Lance woke up to his grandmother shaking his shoulder, her frown stretching into her entire face. “The bell is ringing out of the hour, my boy. We are being called to a meeting,” she croaked as he rose, rubbing his eyes.

“Did something happen last night?” he asked, wincing as his feet hit the cold wooden floorboards, hurrying to pull on some socks. He’d stayed up late working on making a new Sunday suit for a farmer’s son, but their house was too far into the woods for him to have seen any commotion in the town proper, if there had been any.

Grandma shook her head. “I know not. We will find out when we hear what the town chief has to say. Now come on, up you go.”

He and his grandmother woke up the kids, his brother’s children-- he, his wife, and their parents were already awake and eating breakfast at the tavern, his grandmother told him-- and got them dressed and out the door toward the village chief’s house.

As Lance stepped across the threshold himself, he peered up through the autumn leaves still adorning the tops of the trees, the reds and oranges almost indistinguishable from the cloudless sky of early dawn. It was not a sky that seemed to indicate disaster. Despite this, he quickly wrapped his own travelling cloak around himself and hurried after his nieces and nephews through the fallen leaves and down the long path toward the belltower, still tolling out of the hour to call all people to it.

As Lance arrived in the town square, behind the rest of the gathered townspeople, Shiro stepped out of his door, accompanied by the Chime Child, Allura, still wrapped in her travelling cloak. She must have been out all night again.

As Shiro began to talk, Lance stood on his tiptoes to peer over the heads of the other townspeople, looking for the telltale bright red of Keith’s cloak, or the big black dog everyone trusted, but still gave a wide berth. But he saw neither.

“Lookin’ for Keith?” he heard from just under his shoulder, and stumbled as he dropped from his toes to his regular height in surprise.

He relaxed a bit when he saw it was Pidge, Hunk just behind her. “No,” he lied immediately. “Just trying to see Allura better.”

“Uh-huh,” Pidge answered, with the voice of someone who was definitely not fooled. “Well, you can stop not-looking for him. He’s sleeping in today to recover from his wounds. Doctor’s orders.”

Lance raised his eyebrow at the doctor in question, who looked exhausted, dark circles ringing his eyes.

“He and his dog got in a fight with a wolf in the woods,” Hunk answered, then nudged the both of them to pay attention to what Shiro was saying.

“Whatever is out there, I want everyone to have the utmost precaution. I want no one outdoors past dusk, so make sure your livestock is in well before then. The town guard will be taking shifts until whatever it is is dealt with. Until then, I know it is an inconvenience, but stay inside at night. And unless we can fix the situation before Halloween, we may have to cancel the festivities this year.”

He nodded his finality, and the townspeople began to disperse, all whispering nervously among themselves or, in the case of the children who could not understand the seriousness of the situation, complaining about the possibility of not holding the Halloween festival.

“You can go see him, if you want,” Pidge suggested, continuing their conversation from earlier. “He’d probably love it.”

Lance felt a flush in his cheeks, but hid it behind his shirt collar, answering, “no, I’m way too busy right now. If he wants something, he’ll have to come to me.”

Mostly it was because Keith had been avoiding him like the plague ever since the summer festival. Every time Lance _had_ tried to talk to him, he’d gotten quickly rebuffed, and he was getting tired of it.

“Well, I’ll tell him that,” Hunk replied. “Expect him over pretty soon.”

“Wait, wha--?”

But Hunk was already gone, chatting away with Matt, Pidge’s brother who ran the tavern with his father.

Lance frowned, but went back to his house to begin the day’s work.

~~~

It was mid-day by the time Keith awoke, having been well knocked-out by whatever medicine Pidge had given him. He quickly got to his feet and moved over to Kosmo’s spot on the floor, still curled up tightly and wheezing. The dog looked up at him as he approached, whimpering, but his tail beginning to thump against the floor.

Keith ran his hands over Kosmo’s head, stroking his fluffy black ears with his hands. “Hey, boy, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay, right? I don’t think I would’ve made it out of there without you, you know. I can’t thank you enough for that.” He pulled the dog’s head to his chest, holding it tight as he ran his fingers through its fur. “This and every other time.”

Kosmo whimpered, but bumped Keith’s chin with his nose and then licked his face.

Keith smiled, then got to his feet, wincing with the movement. Even with Pidge’s salve, the bite felt like it was on fire, as if he could still feel the wolf’s jaws clamped around his arm.

He ignored it, shrugging on his shirt, although the blood was showing through the bandage. He reached for his cloak, but stopped when he remembered the state it was in, tattered and covered in blood.

It wasn’t much use to him now. Hunk was right-- he’d have to get it repaired. Which meant taking it to Lance.

But he still wasn’t ready to confront Lance about anything yet. He’d have to get some breakfast in him before he was able to think clearly, though.

He made his way to the tavern, feeling the autumn chill through his shirt, thanks to lacking a cloak. He passed by townspeople gathered through the square, whispering about Shiro’s announcement to close up the town at night, the Chime Child’s claim that the wilds weren’t safe.

He grimaced as he pushed open the door to the tavern and slung his bag onto the counter, sliding onto a barstool and avoiding everyone else’s gazes.

Matthew Holt found him immediately, sliding open the bag and looking inside. “Only three rabbits? Wow, Keith, this is a pretty tiny haul for you.”

“I just want some breakfast,” Keith snapped, apparently fierce enough to surprise Matt, who backed up a bit.

“Oookay, my goodness. Yeah, I’ll take these back for skinning and get you some apple porridge and tea. Just wait here for a bit.”

All around him, he could hear the whispering townspeople, their voices grating on his eardrums more than usual.

_Something the Old Ones don’t like._

_What about the tailor, out in the woods? Do you think he’s going to be safe?_

_Well, I suppose it’s an occupational hazard, what with his father being a logger…_

The words weighed heavily on him. It made the tea Matt brought to him taste acrid, images of Lance out in the woods, meeting the wolf the way Keith had. Lance wasn’t a hunter, even if his aim _was_ better than Keith’s. The boy was soft-- couldn’t bear to watch the chickens get slaughtered-- how could he possibly kill the wolf?

Everything irritated him, too. His fear for the town, for his dog, for Lance. Matt asking after his wounds, asking whether he was going out to check the traps, despite his injuries, angry at everything.

He’d asked after Lance, but all anyone would say was that he should ask himself. As if he _could._ He couldn’t promise he would be able to hold himself together, terrified that the fire blazing inside of him would lash out and burn Lance, too. His own rage terrified him, but the idea of accidentally directing it at Lance terrified him more.

He hurried out of the tavern as soon as he’d finished his breakfast, ignoring the offers to go out to his traps with him. He didn’t want to be with anyone right then.

He made his way back to the house that he shared with Shiro, arriving just in time to hear an old farmer complaining to Shiro about a cow he had lost in the night. How he hadn’t noticed anything wrong before the town meeting because the door had been closed.

Keith could see the cow’s blood on the man’s hands. Smell it. It wasn’t fresh-- whatever had killed the animal had done it the night before, not that morning.

The conversation fell silent when the two noticed him, the farmer quickly exiting.

“I was worried about you,” Shiro said, sitting down in his chair again. “When you never came back last night.”

“I had a bad night,” Keith replied.

“Yes, that’s what I heard from Allura.”

Keith didn’t answer, just grabbed the bucket for wash water and began to head back out the door.

“Keith?”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Do you want me to go out with you today? To check the traps, I mean. I don’t want you out there by yourself.”

“God, not you, too. I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of the day.”

He hurried out, moving to the well, drawing water, pouring it into the washbucket and dunking the tattered red cloak into the icy water, over and over again, rubbing the bloodstains out of the fabric with his bare hands. The cold numbed Keith’s fingers, but he welcomed it. Even as the icy feeling spread from his fingertips and up into his arms, he was grateful to it for cooling down his insufferable rage.

He left the cloak to dry outside his house before he gathered his supplies and returned to the woods, planning to ask Shiro to take it to the tailor’s for him.

The forest was quiet, more than usual. Fewer birds chirped in the trees, fewer rodents scurried through the underbrush. Though perhaps he was just unused to not having his dog by his side.

Today, too, his traps were sparse, at least one of them containing traces of blood, as if what had been there had been snatched and pulled out. Foxes, probably. Maybe even a wolf.

He shivered, freezing without his cloak. He’d welcomed the cold at first, but now it was boring into his bones, until it took a great deal of concentration just to keep his teeth from chattering. He was moving slowly, his half-frozen fingers slipping on the levers for the traps several times before he could reset them.

Before he knew it, it was difficult to see, and the mist was returning. He’d been far too focused on his task, on his anger, on his worry. He was full of far too much restless energy, only increasing the later in the night it got. The moon was rising.

As if someone had driven a sword fresh from the forge into his heart, his blood was boiling. He cringed, crumbling to the ground and gasping for breath, his vision going white. Had that wolf been rabid? Or maybe even…

His vision cleared, and he got to his feet, listening for sounds in the woods. Everything was still, not even the slightest breeze disturbing the dry leaves scattered across the ground. And then, far in the distance, from the other side of the town:

A howl.

~~~

Even with all that was going on, it was a relief for Allura to escape the confines of the village and run out into the meadows, letting her skirt and cloak fly out behind her, running her fingers through the stalks of grass. The air was cold, but the late afternoon sunlight was warm, shining brightly on her skin.

She took a deep breath of the fresh air, far away from the stench of animal droppings and human sweat that filled the nervous village. She continued walking, away from the fear of humanity, and into the calm that came with age, the knowing comfort of the Old Ones.

She paused, listening to their voices all around her. Some of the Old Ones were malicious, even to her, like the kelpie, whose eerie whinny occasionally rang out through the forest, or the Dead Hand, who would pull off the hand of whoever fell into its grip. But most were simply old, and their age made them look upon humanity with a form of disdain, like an old man watching a young child toil fruitlessly in the fields.

The latter loved the arts, loved humanity, which could endlessly create. Unlike they, who could only repeat what they had heard. Stories, poems, songs… they preferred them to simple speech, making them difficult to understand, even when they could be heard.

And they were singing now-- or perhaps chanting would be a better description-- an odd poem, yet one she was sure she had heard before:

 

 _We watched the men turn into beasts,_  
_For they saw beasts below,_  
_And in their greed they formed a curse,_  
_As they reap what they sow._

 _He claimed himself greater than all,_  
_Shouted it to the moon._  
_And if he had the scent and strength,_  
_The world would fear him soon._

 _The moon she saw man’s foolishness,_  
_And so his wish she granted._  
_Wolf and man she together bound,_  
_By her power enchanted._

 _Mankind’s greed embodied there,_  
_Monstrous as it should be,_  
_Even wolves reject its hunger,_  
_Repulsing its murderous spree._

 _Not one man but all mankind,_  
_If the wolf should bite._  
_Hurry, human, before it comes,_  
_You must stand and fight._

 _Even a man who is pure in heart_  
_And says his prayers at night_  
_May become a wolf when the wolf-bane blooms_  
_And the autumn moon is bright._

With that, their whispers fell silent, even as the will o’ the wisps began to flicker on in the distance, leading more foolish men to their deaths in the swamps. Night had fallen, and Allura felt her skin turning to ice, her whole body freezing from anything but the cold.

She knew the thing that the Old Ones were speaking of.

She turned and ran back through the meadow, as fast as her booted feet would take her back toward the lights of the town, ringed by small farms.

A piercing howl echoed through the night, powerful enough it seemed to shake the stars in the sky, turning Allura’s blood to pudding. Everything was slowed down-- she would never make it in time.

She heard cattle bellowing, one, and then another, and she ran. From the town she could see the night watch running toward the sound, but there was another beating them to it, coming from the woods themselves. Someone small, his arm bandaged.

Keith?

They met just at the edge of the farmer’s pasture, almost crashing into each other.

The moon shone overhead as if a spotlight, blazing silver down at the scene. A wolf, a wolf indeed, sidling out of an unlocked barn door, so coated in blood that its brown fur was slick with it.

Next to her, Keith raised his rifle, but Allura could see that his hands were unsteady. How out of character for Keith, who had dealt with wolves and bears without the slightest problem. But not, perhaps, _this_ wolf.

But it was too late. Just as Keith pulled the trigger, the wolf darted away, disappearing into the mist and the forest.

~~~

“It’s a _werewolf?!_ ” Shiro remarked, keeping his voice deliberately low so as not to wake any already-frightened children in the nearby houses.

Allura nodded. “The Old Ones know. They do not like it because it is a magic that does not belong to them. Lycanthropy is a curse entirely unique to man. They believe… we brought it upon ourselves.”

Shiro leaned back against his mantle, his face ashen. “And they might be right. If we’re dealing with a werewolf…”

“It could be among us and we’d never know,” she finished for him.

“Right.”

Shiro swallowed, grabbing his rifle and going to the door. “I’ll tell the night watch one at a time. If the whole town panics, we’ll only make things worse.” He paused, turning back to her. “Didn’t you say you met Keith out there?”

“He went chasing after the wolf,” Allura replied, wondering why Shiro frowned at such an answer. “I thought he would be the best person to do so, considering his expertise.”

A muscle jumped in Shiro’s jaw, but he continued forward. “Yes… you’re probably right.”

~~~

Normally, a wagonful of people returning from the city would have been a welcome sight for the people of the town of Altea, but in the present circumstances, it was anything but. Most of them were familiar faces, the new ones only so because they were the new husbands or wives of those returning. But they were not free from suspicion. No one was.

Even with the village chief’s attempts to keep the revelation quiet, “werewolf” seemed to be the only word Lance was hearing as he made his way into the town, forcing a smile as he ran to give his sister, Veronica, a big hug.

“At least _someone’s_ capable of a warm welcome,” she scoffed, ruffling his hair. “What is wrong with this place? I always knew everyone had a stick up their ass, but--”

“There’s a werewolf,” Lance interrupted, noticing how the other townspeople cringed when he dared to speak the word in his full voice.

He gestured for her to follow him back to his house, so he could recount all that had happened in her absence, while she’d been studying in the city. He found himself continuing his sewing as he did so-- it was good for releasing the nervous energy he, like everyone else, seemed to be filled with lately.

When he was done, Veronica pushed back her hair, staring out the window at the people milling about in the town square. “A real werewolf… I’ve been living in the city for so long… I forgot that that kind of thing is a reality out here.”

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. “Are you scared?”

At this, Lance had to stop and think. In a way he was, in a way he wasn’t. Seeing the cattle ripped apart by dreadful claws had been disturbing, and the woods still frightened him, but… no more than they always had. It was strange, actually, how _unafraid_ he felt. At least not for himself.

“I’m more worried about Keith, actually.”

“Oh?” Veronica opened one eye, peering at him through it. “From your letters it seemed like he was avoiding you.”

“Well… yeah, but…” he bit his lip, trying to clarify his thoughts. “He goes out into the woods more than anyone else. He’s getting hurt _all the time_ , and I… just the other night he came back injured. But despite that, he went running after the werewolf-- or at least that’s what Allura said. It’s like he thinks he’s invincible.”

“But he’s not,” Veronica finished for him.

“No, he’s not.”

She got to her feet, turning away from the window. “Well, perhaps you’ll have to talk to him about it, because he’s coming to visit you.”

She turned and disappeared out the back door, just as a knock came from the front one. Lance’s heart jumped, and he instantly cursed his sister’s coy nature, standing up to answer it.

When he saw Keith on the doorstep, his rifle slung over his arm, his hunting knife strapped to his hip, but cradling his red cloak in his hands, Lance’s heart beat faster against his will. He was only beginning to come to terms with his reasons for being so upset with Keith’s impulsiveness, his reasons for always being drawn to Keith like a compass to north, despite the number of times they’d fought, teased, argued. It had all only just recently begun to make sense to him. He wasn’t ready for Keith to come in and make it all a mess again. But there he was.

“I… need my cloak fixed,” Keith got out, seeming to be avoiding Lance’s eyes. “I thought I would be okay without it, but… it was really cold last night.”

Lance’s throat felt thick. “Yeah… sure. Come on in, sit down while I take a look at it.”

Keith obliged, dropping the red cloth into Lance’s hands and then stopping to take his boots off before he lowered himself into the chair Veronica had just vacated.

Silence fell as Lance evaluated the tears in the cloth, the rips so clearly made by sharp claws. It made his heart ache, the thought of Keith fighting a beast out in the dark. Never bothering to tell him about it.

He clicked his tongue. “This thing is in seriously bad shape… it’ll take me all day to fix it. And even when I do, it won’t be as pretty. Might be better to just get a new one.”

At this, Keith winced. “My mom gave that to me as a gift before she left for the city. I… don’t really want a new one.”

Lance shrugged, taking the tattered cloak over to his workbench to make some measurements, look for appropriate thread. More silence.

“So… have you… been okay?” Keith attempted, sounding as awkward as Lance felt. “You’re not scared, living so far out of town?”

“What about you, going into the woods all on your own?” Lance shot back, a bit irritated at Keith’s insinuation that Lance was some kind of coward. “I heard you went running off after the wolf last night. Did you actually think you were going to get it, or were you just hoping it would take you out?”

Keith looked up at him, insulted. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I just figured that if you’re so eager to go out and get yourself hurt, then chasing after a werewolf with an _injured arm_ sounds like a great idea!”

Keith grimaced. “I was there. I had to do _something._ I spent all night chasing after it and never caught it. I’m tired. Get off my back.”

Lance tasted acid. “Because that’s what you do, right? Run off into the woods when things happen that you don’t like?”

“Lance, this is _not_ the right time for this--”

“So when _is_ the right time?!” Lance shouted, throwing the cloak down in frustration. “This is the first time you’ve even _looked_ at me in months! Did it take a werewolf in the woods to make you come and face me? Did I do something so horrible to you?!”

“Maybe you did,” Keith answered.

The words sliced right through Lance’s core. He stepped backwards, his hands shaking. Keith’s words had sounded dangerous, a growl through the thankfully empty house, since the children were away at the schoolhouse, with Coran their teacher.

“Excuse me?”

“What do you care, anyway?! You don’t even _like_ me!” Keith shouted back, rising to his full height, taller than Lance remembered him being. “What if I _did_ get killed by the wolf?! You’d be much happier, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t have to put up with me anymore.”

“Maybe I _would_ ,” Lance replied through gritted teeth, his fists clenched. “That way I wouldn’t have to keep seeing you get hurt, wouldn’t have to keep seeing you run away into the woods because you’re a coward who’s scared of the town.”

“I am not _scared_ of the town.”

“You are.”

“Just stay inside, then! Stay huddled inside, where it’s safe, and let me deal with it, then! Don’t you ever, _ever_ call me a coward, when you were the first one to run away!”

He shoved his feet into his boots and stomped out, throwing the door open with so much force that it shook the house when it slammed against the wall, breaking into a run almost as soon as he was across the threshold.

~~~

This time, the town was completely locked inside for the night long before the moon had risen, Shiro noticed. With the addition of the newcomers, the night watch was able to operate in shifts of ten strong, hopefully enough to overpower a werewolf. Not that he could be certain of that. The town had dealt with many supernatural phenomena over the years, like any out in the old forests, but they had never had a werewolf before. Shiro’s predecessors had taught him what to do in many situations, but not one like this.

The smith had worked all day to melt unused silver into bullets for the mens’ guns. Shiro hoped it would be enough.

The mist was thick that night, and growing thicker with every moment. If he looked far above, he could just barely make out the pale silver of the moon, almost completely round, now.

“The full moon is tomorrow night,” said a voice at his elbow. Shiro looked over in surprise to see Allura, dressed in breeches and carrying a rifle, a determined scowl on her face. “It will be strongest tomorrow. If we do not catch it tonight, it could be disaster.”

Shiro decided not to comment on her presence, knowing that doing so would be to underestimate her, and he’d long ago learned not to do that.

“Then let’s hope we catch it tonight.”

She smiled, looking out through the fog. “It is strange… when I saw it, briefly, it seemed so much more animal than man. I wonder… how long it has been cursed. Perhaps… it may have forgotten how to be human.”

“Are you having pity on it?” Shiro asked.

“No.” She paused, considering. “Well… perhaps.”

Noise broke their conversation. Shouts from across the town. A man’s scream. Dogs barking, one of them Kosmo, still locked inside the doctor’s house.

“Takashi! It’s here!”

Shiro immediately began to run toward the voice, Adam’s voice, who had insisted on taking the same shift as him. He’d been off in the city, pursuing a fortune for the both of them, and had only returned with the wagon that day. Shiro wished he hadn’t. But he was here, and it was better that he was here.

Shots rang out through the mist. They would have to be careful, or they may end up shooting each other. A possibility that, he suspected, the wolf was hoping for. “Where is it?!”

“It’s heading for you! For the town square!”

Shiro froze, listening. All around him he could hear men’s feet, their heavy breaths. The lowing of frightened cattle, the barking of dogs. It was so much sound, too much sound, so that his ears were just as useless against the wolf as his eyes were through the darkness and mist.

“What do you want?!” he shouted into the air, knowing that the wolf was nearby, could hear him. “Do you want fear?! Do you want power? What?!”

 _Behind him_.

He spun just in time to bring his rifle up in front of his chest, holding back the wolf’s jaws as they snapped at his face, its claws raking at his chest. It was heavy, taking all of his strength to force it backwards, to throw it off of him.

As soon as he did, he aimed his rifle again, but it had disappeared into the mist again, away. But for a moment, Shiro had seen its eyes. Seen malice. Anger.

Whatever it wanted, it certainly wasn’t pity.

More shots rang out, one of them pinging against the cobblestones just at his feet. He swore, following after the wolf.

It was heading back toward the woods. Shiro almost tripped over a half-mauled body, but could not stop to grieve over it, focusing on his mission.

A breeze.

It drifted through the town, pushing the cold deeper into Shiro’s bones, but it brought with it a certain advantage.

For just a moment, the mist thinned. Yellow eyes glinted in the moonlight. Wide eyes. Intelligent eyes, that saw Shiro raise his gun. That saw the other guns aimed toward it, cutting off its escape route. The wolf turned, lunging back at Shiro. Fast, faster than any man, than any wolf.

Shiro pulled the trigger.

The blast hit the beast head-on, stopping it in the middle of its jump. It fell to the ground with a whimper, convulsing where the silver scatter-shot had buried into its chest.

The rest of the night-guard joined Shiro, watching with guns pointed as the animal began to change, to melt away, bones snapping into different places, jaws shrinking in on themselves.

But the eyes remained yellow. The teeth remained sharp.

The man that had been a wolf coughed blood as he grinned up at Shiro, although his chest was still spasming. “It… doesn’t… end… with… me,” he said, before Adam, his face spattered with blood, pulled the trigger of his own gun.

The werewolf fell still.

It was done.

~~~

Hunk awoke early enough in the morning to see the bodies being burned.

One was the werewolf, a man named Macidas who had apparently disappeared from a village a few leagues away, and had been terrorizing the area for decades.

The other was one of the young men brought by the wagon from the city, who had been torn apart by the wolf’s teeth and claws in the struggle to destroy it before it destroyed the town. His now-widowed wife could not watch the flames, escorted into the comfort of the tavern by Coran and Mr. Holt.

They burned the bodies for fear that one of them may become the next werewolf. But with the both of them gone, the curse was over. The town could be safe again.

The people came out to see the huge flames, gracing the firepit at the center of the square that shouldn’t have been seen until the Halloween festival a few nights away. They asked Shiro if it was safe to come out at night again. He answered that it was.

Hunk wasn’t so sure.

He looked around at the gathered crowd, from Pidge and her family to Lance and his siblings, nieces, and nephews, to Coran the schoolteacher and Allura the Chime Child.

“Where’s Keith?” he wondered aloud, thankfully only Shiro close enough to hear him.

“I… didn’t see him, but… I was so busy last night, I…”

A sudden wave of fear passed over Shiro’s face as he looked down at Hunk. “What are you implying, Doctor?”

“Um, well, he and Lance kinda got in a fight and he went into the woods, but… I haven’t seen him since.”

Shiro’s voice suddenly dropped dangerously soft as he pulled Hunk aside, the closest thing to panic Hunk had ever heard in the town chief’s voice. “You said that he was attacked by a pack of wolves.”

“He only ever saw one of them, Shiro,” Hunk answered, the words just as terrifying to himself. “It was the largest bite I’ve ever seen. Shiro… I think…”

He heard a gasp from behind him, and turned to see Allura there, her hand still on her rifle. “If Keith has been bitten, we have to find him, and quickly. Before night time.”

Hunk frowned. “Well, duh.”

“No, Doctor Garrett, I don’t think you understand… tonight is the full moon. If we do not purify the curse from him before tonight… there may be no getting Keith back.”

~~~

Lance felt terrible about the things he’d said to Keith. He hadn’t meant them, not like _that._ He’d just been so angry, and confused, and scared. Scared that Keith was going to disappear forever, and in his fear, he’d lashed out. Keith didn’t deserve that.

He’d been thinking about it all night, unable to sleep, knowing that the night watch was likely facing the werewolf even as he worked, keeping his hands and mind busy with the red thread, carefully stitching the fabric of Keith’s fur-lined red cloak back together. Adding some fabric where it had been removed. In the distance, he’d heard gunshots, and continued working.

He had other projects to work on-- some, even, that had specific order dates-- but he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d delivered Keith his apology, and the cloak was integral to that. Even when his parents returned to assure him that the werewolf had been caught and it was safe to move around at night again, as long as one was protected against the Old Ones, he continued working, sewing patterns of vines and flowers into the red cloth where it had been ripped, disguising the repairs as decoration.

On through the day, he stitched, and stitched, and stitched, the image of the hurt in Keith’s face playing across his vision the entire time. He pricked his fingers more times than he could count, but they were already too callused from his craft for it to draw blood.

His heart ached, ached for Keith, remembering the warmth of the night they had danced, remembering his smile, his laughter, his cocky grins any time Lance had challenged him to any kind of competition. It all contrasted so much with the anger Keith had shown last time. It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t _Keith._

~~~

Keith had wandered quite far from the town, he knew. Especially when the ground beneath his feet began to grow damp, and the blue light of will o’ the wisps flickered into the corners of his vision. He was nearing the swamp, where even his experience would not guarantee his safety.

When night fully fell, he was filled with even more energy. He felt like he could run forever, undaunted by the mist, by the lights, by the shouts and gunshots in the distance. He was strong, almost… _immortal_. Time seemed to race by, his vision sharper than usual.

He hadn’t even noticed how much time was passing until the sun had risen, and his strength waned, leaving him hungry and weak, leaning heavily against a tree.

He’d been heedless of his wound ever since escaping from Lance’s house, the pain almost forgotten until then. But now it ached worse than ever, long having bled through its bandage. He peeled it off, looking into the wound.

It was revolting, a purplish, oozing thing not made any more attractive by what was left of the greenish paste Pidge had applied to ease the infection. He quickly looked away, wondering if he should bother re-wrapping it. Instead, he pulled his arm out of the sleeve of his shirt and tied the fabric tightly around his shoulder, reducing the blood loss at least a bit. But he was still woozy and exhausted.

He wondered why the Old Ones weren’t trying to suck him into the swamp, or rip off his hand, or any of the other dangerous things they were notorious for doing. He didn’t have the strength to stop them if they tried.

Until night came again, that is.

This time was different, though. As he sat, leaned against the tree, once again thinking about the summer festival, dancing with Lance late into the night, he suddenly felt sick. He lurched forward, his stomach too empty to throw up anything, but certainly trying.

The place where the wolf bit him was pulsing with pain, fierce and hot, overtaking all his other senses. It was pain, pain, nothing but pain.

 _Lance, I’m so sorry,_ he thought, as he felt his joints begin to shift in place, his vision clearing to a sharpness he had never before seen. _Lance, I shouldn’t have pushed you away just because you didn’t remember._

His blood was boiling, the skin of the bite knitting together, but sprouting hair, long, thick, black hair, his body snapping into a shape he didn’t know, his heart beating faster, his desire irresistible now.

_I would tear my clothes just so that he would have to fix them._

He ran off through the trees, faster than he’d ever moved before, all four limbs steady against the mist-wet earth.

_Lance. Lance, who fixed everything I’ve broken._

It was painful, even as it was exhilarating. He was hungry, ravenous, angry, but lonely. He’d always been lonely. But he’d never allowed himself to show it to anyone. But Lance had seen right through it. Always had.

_He can fix this, too._

~~~

Allura leaned down and picked up the bloody bandage with the end of her rifle, holding it up to Shiro and Hunk.

“His clothes are here, too,” she declared, her voice shaking, pointing at the shredded cloth all around them. “His knife, there.”

Hunk fought back tears. He was losing. “So we’re… we’re too late?”

Allura didn’t answer, but her expression was answer enough. They hadn’t told the townspeople about Keith, even though Hunk knew that by nature of their positions, they should have. But he didn’t expect them to. Telling the town meant that the town would go looking for Keith. And not everyone would have mercy on him.

Shiro cleared his throat, picking up the knife and rising to his full height. “We’ve still got to stop him.”

Hunk whirled on Shiro, aghast. “You can’t be serious?! I thought Keith is like your brother!”

“He is. That’s why I have to stop him.”

“You’re talking about _killing Keith,_ Shiro! Allura, help me out!”

But she wouldn’t. “The Old Ones can’t help us on this. I don’t know what else to do, Hunk.”

He fell silent, following dumbly as they made their way after Keith’s trail of ruined clothes and pawprints in the soft ground, back toward the village, and to its outskirts.

Shiro froze once they reached the farms surrounding the town, looking around at the pastures. “This isn’t right.”

“What? What is it?” Allura asked.

“Look… the cattle… they’re fine.”

It was true, Hunk noted, looking around at the cows and steers happily munching away at pasture grass, this late at night. They’d been spooked, and were far away from the place the tracks crossed, but were unharmed.

“He’s not so bloodthirsty as I remember werewolves told to be…” Allura mused, staring off after the tracks. “He’s… looking for something. Something specific.”

“Some _one_ ,” Shiro clarified, breaking into a run. “The last person he talked to was Lance. If that conversation ended in a fight, then…”

He didn’t finish that sentence. Hunk didn’t want him to, either.

~~~

Lance snuck out quietly, tucking his nephew in for the night and then snuffing the candle at his workbench. He draped his own deep blue traveling cloak over his shoulders, a Bible Ball crumpled up in his shirt pocket, then carefully opened the door so that it wouldn’t creak, shutting it just as gently behind him.

In his arms he cradled the newly-repaired red cloak, proud of his work. Logic told him that he should wait until morning to bring it to Keith, but he simply couldn’t wait any longer. The anxiety was threatening to eat him alive.

It wasn’t so misty as it had been, lately, a light breeze keeping it at bay, although it made his cloak billow around him as he walked, occasionally exposing him to the cold autumn night air.

He rehearsed his apology in his head, the thousand different versions of it he had thought of while he’d been stitching the cloak back together. Pure apologies. Apologies mixed with confessions. Some that left the apology completely by the wayside and jumped straight to confession.

The moon was full, making his path through the woods easily visible. But he didn’t feel afraid, now that the werewolf had been caught. The moonlight felt calming, magical.

He heard a twig snap and looked up, clutching his cargo tighter. “Okay, Veronica, ha-ha, I’m real scared.”

But what stepped out from the trees was not his sister. It was a huge, hulking mass of pure-black fur, the kind that shone in the moonlight. From it, a pair of deep, expressive violet eyes gazed out at him.

 _A wolf,_ he thought, then reconsidered as it stepped toward him, rising to a height it should not have been able to. _A werewolf._

He should have been terrified. He wasn’t. He should have cried out. He didn’t.

“Keith? Is that you?” He asked, surprised at himself when he reached forward, running his fingers through the coarse black hair just over the violet eyes, his heart aching.

The werewolf leaned forward, almost humming under Lance’s touch, relaxing under it, until its shoulders lowered to his height.

“I was going to bring you your cloak, idiot. You weren’t supposed to come to me. It ruins the surprise,” he said, his voice tight.

He pulled his hand back, unfolding the bright red cloak, loving the way the shimmering red thread caught the moonlight as he threw it over the wolf-man’s back, tying it around his neck.

“But I can’t say I’m sad you came to me,” he said, pressing his forehead to the werewolf’s, breathing in his scent. “As long as you come back.”

~~~

Shiro and Allura arrived on the scene first, Hunk huffing behind them, almost running into them when they stopped short.

“What? What’s happ--” he fell silent when Allura clamped a hand over his mouth, pointing at the pair illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the autumn leaves. Lance, clad in blue, wrapping a bright red cloak around the shoulders of a huge, pure-black wolf.

The three of them all stared in stunned silence as the wolf’s form began to melt away, quite unlike the way it had for Macidas in the town square. It was a gentle transformation, a calm one. The fur, the mass, the muscle… it all simply faded away, until only the man was left, falling forward into Lance’s waiting arms, entirely bare except for the cloak tied around his neck.

Allura let go of Hunk, looking even more stunned than Hunk felt. “I never thought it would work,” she whispered.

“What?”

She glanced back at Hunk, her hand still over her own mouth. “There are so many legends about werewolves… I thought the one about returning its clothes before its first full moon was over was just a pipe dream. But…” she lowered her hand, revealing a soft smile flanked by freely-flowing tears. “It only works if the person truly loves the werewolf. Purely, honestly.”

Hunk looked back at the two boys sitting on the forest floor, collapsed in each other’s arms, and shrugged. “I think the only ones who doubted it were the two of them.”

Allura grinned, starting forward. “I suppose you are right. But we should get Keith a bit more clothing than a winter cloak, or he will freeze in this weather.”

“Wait…” Shiro interrupted, grabbing her shoulder. “We should give them… just a few more moments.”

~~~

The Halloween festival was the grandest the town of Altea had held in a hundred years. The children ran around, spooking each other for tricks, all wearing masks to prevent devils from stealing their identity. The bonfire was lit again, this time to light the way for the lost souls, and not to send away the feared dead.

Shiro and Adam relaxed together for the first time in months. Pidge talked to Veronica about the possibility of returning with her to the city, to hone her skills as an apothecary. Hunk patted Kosmo’s head, happy that the dog was finally recovering enough to watch over his boy from a distance, his big black tail thumping against the cobblestones. Kosmo, who apparently was more than a dog, according to Allura. He was a Black Dog, and he ran and played with the ghost children in the graveyard, tongue lolling as they chased him around the graves. Because of course, the Old Ones had never bothered Keith as long as Kosmo was around, for he was one of them.

And as for Lance and Keith…

They danced.

Masked, and exhausted, but happy, happier than they’d allowed themselves to feel for a long, long time, they danced.

**Author's Note:**

> I remembered reading a tumblr post about a version of the werewolf myth where the wolf will turn back if someone who loves it gives it its clothes. This story initially came from that idea, but when figuring out how the other characters were involved, somehow "Chime" by Franny Billingsley (also referenced in another one of my stories, in case you were wondering how much I love that book) got involved. Also, with Keith's cloak stuck in there, it was Little Red Riding-Hood in there as well. Hence the main tag. And yeah, this ended up WAY longer than I anticipated. I got really into it lol  
> *The last stanza of the poem of the Old Ones apparently comes from an old movie, called "The Wolf Man." Never seen the movie, but I liked the poem.


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